As the door creaked open, I half expected to find a courtyard brimming with rampaging orks, but the grounds were devoid of life. Whatever remained of the grasses and shrubs had been obliterated or consumed by flame. The earth was too sodden to maintain the inferno, but the air was thick with smoke. I could barely see, coughing as I staggered through the smog, the quagmire grasping at the cane I had borrowed from the medi-unit.

I knew the château lay ahead, but doubted it still stood. Surely the orks would have reduced the edifice to ash? But I could see a shape lurking in the smoke, vast, if diminished, and as I drew close the smog dissipated, and I saw what remained of the building.

Its outer surface was black, scorched by the terrible inferno unleashed by the orks’ firebombs. I could see a one-armed servitor scraping pathetically at the torched bark, but there was no saving it. The mandack tree was dead. In fact, it had probably been dead long before the ork attack. For with the bark split, I could now see the threadworm tendrils that infested its innards. Somehow, they had proved resilient to the inferno, the outer surface darkened but the flowers still pink and puckered. They now hung distended from the shell of the great tree, like spilled entrails. The infestation extended into the earth as well, tendrils bursting through the cracked runways. No wonder the château had succumbed to the parasitic plant. By the end, it must have been wearing the great tree like a shell. Who knew how deeply it had penetrated the planet, or how far its influence had spread?

But it had survived. Which meant, perhaps, some of the interior had endured, if only I could access it. The governor’s rooms were central, and would no doubt be reinforced against attack. But the entrance and walkways were both ruined and entangled by the new growth.

My gaze lingered on the servitor. I could not tell if it was the one who had first greeted me, that Plient had referred to as Garrie. They all looked alike. But perhaps it fulfilled a similar role.

‘You there!’ I said, approaching the lumbering automaton, which was still rasping pathetically at the blackened bark. ‘Take this bag to the governor’s room.’

It ignored me, assuming it even registered my presence. It was damaged, missing its arm and with jagged cuts scouring the grey flesh of its sternum. Perhaps its programming was compromised.

I tried again, forcing myself into its view and shoving a torn scrap of mat­erial into its hand.

‘Take this bag to Governor Dolos’ chambers!’ I ordered.

It slowed, glancing at me with dead, grey eyes. I shivered, for I knew not how damaged it was. It could have lost whatever mechanisms prevented it from harming me. But I had no choice.

‘Bag!’ I said, hand outstretched.